by John Cleese
Basil: Er . . . telephone calls?
Mackintosh: But I haven’t made any.
Basil: Oh. Er . . . cigarettes?
Mackintosh: I don’t smoke.
Mrs. Richards (to phone): Hallo!! (to Basil) There’s nobody there.
Basil (taking the phone): Hallo . . . yes, yes, I know she is. Yes . . . (to Mrs. Richards) It’s your sister. (Mrs. Richards grabs the phone)
Mackintosh: Well, what is it for?
Basil: Drinks?
Mackintosh: Drinks—me?
Mrs. Richards (to phone): Hallo. Hallo. We’ve been cut off.
Basil (grabbing the phone): Hallo . . . look, you tell me, and I’ll tell her . . .
Mrs. Richards (to Mackintosh): Even the phones don’t work.
Basil: Your sister says you’ve had an offer of eighty-seven thousand pounds for your house in Brighton.
Mrs. Richards: Eighty-seven? Give it to me. (grabbing the phone back) Don’t be a fool, Stephanie. Nine two seven fifty I said and I’m not taking a penny less, you tell him that. (slams the phone down) Why don’t people listen? (heads off towards dining room)
Mackintosh: Well?
Basil: Well, let’s scrub that 32p then, shall we? Let’s enjoy ourselves. There.
Mackintosh: Oh, thank you very much.
Mackintosh writes out the cheque. The Major appears from the dining room.
Basil: Ah! Major! (hurries from behind the desk and catches the Major) Major . . . can I have it now?
The Major: What, old boy?
Basil: The money . . . the money I gave you last night.
The Major: What is all this, Fawlty?
Basil: You remember . . . I gave you some money last night. Just before you went to that remembrance service.
The Major: Remembrance service?
Basil: Yes.
The Major: I don’t remember that, old boy.
Basil: It was for . . . a chap you didn’t like. Um . . . you know . . . he was one of those.
The Major: One of those what?
Basil: Well . . .
The Major: Pansy?
Basil: Yes.
The Major (indicating the dining room): Which one?
Basil: No, no. Look, you were in your best suit.
The Major: Was I? Oh yes, of course—I went to the theatre, of course.
Basil: No, no.
The Major: Yes, with Winnie Atwell.
Basil: Winnie Atwell?
The Major: Well, Marjorie Atwell, Marjorie . . . I always call her Winnie ’cos she looks like Winnie.
Basil: . . . She’s not black.
The Major: Black? Churchill wasn’t black.
Basil: Look, look, I gave you seventy-five pounds—you put it in there . . . (indicates the Major’s pocket)
The dining-room door flies open and Mrs. Richards strides out and up to Basil. The Major wanders off upstairs.
Mrs. Richards: What do you mean by telling me you called the police?
Basil: I . . .
Mrs. Richards: You’ve done no such thing. Your wife’s just told me you’re still searching the rooms.
Basil: Well, I thought she’d called them.
Mrs. Richards: You lying hound!
Sybil (coming in): Mrs. Richards . . .
Mrs. Richards (to Basil): Go and call them now. Immediately.
Basil: Yes, but look . . .
Sybil: Mrs. Richards, we will, the moment we’ve searched the . . .
Mrs. Richards: Right. I shall call them myself, then. (she makes for the reception desk, followed by Sybil)
Sybil: Couldn’t we just wait until . . .
Mrs. Richards: I’ve never seen such a place. (picks up the phone)
Sybil (intercepting her): All right, Mrs. Richards. Would you like to use the office phone?
Mrs. Richards: What?
Sybil: In here. Thank you. (shows her into the office, and calls back to Basil) Basil. Get the key and check her room. (goes into the office)
Basil: Right. (gets the key)
The Major (appearing at the foot of the stairs holding a wad of notes): I’ve found it, Fawlty!
Basil: What?
The Major: It was in my pocket.
Basil: Ah! (glances furtively towards the office)
The Major: Yes, in my new suit. In there. (puts the notes into his inside pocket) See?
Basil (trying to regain the money): That’s marvellous, Major.
The Major: Stuffed right down.
Basil: Yes, can I . . .
The Major: I don’t know how it got there.
Basil: No, can I . . .
The Major: I always make a point of keeping my money in my hip pocket.
Basil: Please! Please!
The Major: What, old boy?
Basil: Can I have it.
The Major: Oh! Yes, yes, the money . . . yes, of course . . . (reaches into his back pocket) Oh! (pokes about inside the pocket) Good God, it’s gone.
Basil: No, no—you put it in there.
Sybil (appearing at the office door): Basil!
The Major (finding it): Here it is! (produces the money and holds it out)
Sybil: What’s that?
The Major: I found it, Mrs. Fawlty. The money.
Sybil: Oh, that’s marvellous. Mrs. Richards!!
Basil: What?
Sybil: We’ve found your money.
Mrs. Richards emerges from the office.
Basil (frozen with horror): Er . . . no!
Sybil: The Major’s found your money.
Basil: No dear.
Sybil: What? (takes the money) Thank you, Major. (gives it to Mrs. Richards) You see, I knew it’d turn up.
Mrs. Richards looks at it suspiciously and starts to count it.
Basil (whimpering unintelligibly): Er . . . er . . .
Sybil: What is it, Basil?
But he can’t think of anything to say. Mrs. Richards continues to count.
The Major: Bit of luck, eh, Fawlty?
Mrs. Richards: It’s ten pounds short.
Sybil: Oh dear.
Basil (dramatically): It’s not!! Ten pounds! Oh my God!! Don’t worry, we’ll have a whip-round! (grabs the blind box and shakes it frantically, upside down)
Sybil: Basil!! Stop it!!
Mrs. Richards: What’s he doing now?
Basil is still shaking the box. Sybil stares at him for a moment and then throws a cup of coffee in his face. He freezes.
Sybil: What on earth do you think you’re doing? (to Mrs. Richards) I’ll look for the other ten immediately, Mrs. Richards. (to the Major) Where exactly did you find it, Major?
The Major: In my pocket.
Sybil: In your pocket?
The Major: Yes, yes, not this suit—the new one.
Sybil: Would you mind if I just popped up and had a look?
The Major: Oh, not at all, not at all.
Sybil (to Mrs. Richards): I’ll see if I can find it. Won’t be a moment.
The Major: It’s in with the . . . er . . . (he can’t remember)
Sybil disappears up the stairs.
Basil (to Mrs. Richards): Excuse me . . .
Mrs. Richards (to the Major): Did you say it was in your pocket?
The Major: Yes.
Basil: Mrs. Richards, can I . . .
Mrs. Richards: What was it doing in your pocket?
Basil: Can I explain . . .
Mrs. Richards: You’re not explaining anything. You’re completely loopy. Mad as a March hare.
Basil: Yes. Yes, I am. Yes, I am completely loopy. That’s why I gave him the money to look after.
Mrs. Richards: What?
Basil: You see, there’s been a mistake. The money there is in fact mine.
Mrs. Richards: Yours?
Basil: Yes. As the Major will confirm. I’ve been saving it up for a present for my wife, right, and that’s why I couldn’t say anything just now but I gave it to the Major last night.
Mrs. Richards: What rubbish. This is my money.
> Basil: No, no, well the Major will verify what I’ve said.
The Major: Hmmmm?
Basil: Could you verify that, Major?
The Major: What, old boy?
Basil: The money I gave you last night, you know, for my wife’s present . . . You remember I gave it to you just before you went to the theatre.
The Major: Theatre!?
Basil: Yes. You remember. (whispering) That money I won on the horse.
The Major: A horse.
Mrs. Richards: Why are you whispering? What are you saying?
The Major: He says he won it on a horse.
Mrs. Richards (loudly): Won it on a horse!
Basil: Ssssh. Doesn’t matter. (to the Major) Do you remember me giving it to you? (the Major thinks) Think. Please think.
Pause.
The Major: . . . What was the question again?
Basil: The money! The money!! Do you remember? . . . (sees Manuel emerging from the dining room) Manuel. Manuel. Come here. Manuel . . . you remember I had some money yesterday. (Manuel looks suspicious; Basil whispers) The money I won on the horse.
Manuel: Ah! Si . . .
Basil: Tell Mrs. Richards. Tell her I had the money yesterday.
Manuel (with pride): Ahem. I know nothing.
Basil: What?
Manuel: I know nothing.
Basil: No, no.
Manuel: Nothing.
Basil: No, no, forget that.
Manuel: I forget everything. I know nothing.
Basil: No, you can tell her. You can tell her.
Manuel: No I cannot.
Basil: Yes, yes, tell her, tell her, please, please, tell her, tell her . . . I’ll kill you if you don’t.
Manuel (runs his finger along his throat and winks at Basil): No, I know nothing. (to Mrs. Richards) I am from Barcelona. (he leaves)
Mrs. Richards: I’m not listening to any more of this rubbish. I’m going to finish my breakfast. When I come back I want the rest of the money. (she steams off into the dining room)
Sybil (coming down the stairs): Give it to her, Basil.
Basil: What?
Sybil: I can’t find it. Give her ten from the till.
Basil: . . . Right. (he opens the till by banging it with his head and takes ten pounds out) Ten pounds. (he slaps it down on the counter and starts taking his shirt off)
Sybil: What are you doing?
Basil: I’m going to give her the shirt off my back too.
Manuel (poking his head out of the kitchen): You see, I know nothing.
Basil: I’m going to sell you to a vivisectionist. (Manuel disappears; the Major wanders off; Basil finishes folding his shirt) There. Now . . .
He stands for a moment, then starts to wail. Mr. Kerr comes in through the main door, carrying a large ornate vase.
Kerr: Good afternoon, Mr. Fawlty.
Basil (in between sobs): Good afternoon.
Kerr: You got a Mrs. Richards staying with you?
Basil (falls out of sight behind the desk; he reappears): Yes.
Kerr: Ah. Only she bought this yesterday, asked us to deliver it. The thing is . . . (takes a glove out of his pocket) she left some money behind. Keeps it in this, ninety-five quid . . . look. (Basil looks) The cleaner found it this morning, almost threw it in the bin, lucky, eh? (Basil is transfixed) . . . Is she around?
Basil: . . . Nope. I’ll give it to her.
Kerr (giving it to him): Oh, thanks, Mr. Fawlty. Goodbye.
He goes out, leaving the vase on the desk. Polly enters. Basil looks at the money and blows a kiss to God.
Basil: We found her money!
Polly: Where?
Basil: . . . She left it . . . it doesn’t matter . . . I’m ten pounds up on the deal.
Polly: Ten pounds up?
Basil: Yes—even if I give her ten—I’m still up . . . Polly . . . for the first time in my life I’m ahead! I’m winning! Ah ha! (sees Mrs. Richards approaching; gleefully) Hallo, Mrs. Richards. How lovely to see you. Your beautiful vase that you bought yesterday has just arrived. Now, remind me, that money you had, was it yours or mine?
Mrs. Richards: I told you, it’s mine.
Basil: You’re absolutely sure?
Mrs. Richards: Yes, I am.
Basil: But you’re still ten pounds short. (pulls out the wad of notes he has received and peels one off) Polly, give Mrs. Richards this, would you?
Mrs. Richards (sensing something): What’s that?
Basil: This is mine. (he flourishes it)
Mrs. Richards stares undecided. Basil beams. Sybil appears behind him and looks at the wad.
Sybil: What’s that, Basil?
Basil jumps but cannot think of an answer.
Polly: It’s mine.
Sybil: What?
Polly: It’s the money I won on the horse.
Basil: That’s right, dear. Polly asked me to put it in the safe for her. So . . . that’s all sorted out . . . and this is your money, Polly . . . this is your beautiful vase, Mrs. Richards.
Still holding the money in his right hand, he picks up the vase carefully with his left and holds it out to her. The Major sails into view, quite excited.
The Major: Fawlty . . . you did give me that money! You won it on that horse!
Basil is horrified. Sybil grabs the money; he clutches at it with his left hand, dropping the vase. It shatters. He screams.
Mrs. Richards: That cost seventy-five pounds.
Sybil: Oh, I am sorry, Mrs. Richards. We must pay you back for it.
She counts out the money for Mrs. Richards. Basil despairs.
THE PSYCHIATRIST
Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese
Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales
Polly ..... Connie Booth
Mr. Johnson ..... Nicky Henson
Dr. Abbott ..... Basil Henson
Mrs. Abbott ..... Elspet Gray
Raylene Miles ..... Luan Peters
Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs
Terry ..... Brian Hall
Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower
Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts
Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley
Mrs. Johnson ..... Aimée Delamain
Girlfriend ..... Imogen Bickford-Smith
Second of second series, first broadcast on 26, February 1979, BBC2.
The hotel lobby. Polly is checking a couple in. Sybil is on the phone. Basil is on the other phone . . . he is waiting.
Sybil: Oh dear . . . oh dear . . .
Basil: Hallo?
Sybil: What a shame.
Polly: Oh Manuel . . .
Basil: Hallo, operator. What is going on?
Sybil: Oh, I know . . .
Polly: Number ten.
Basil: . . . I’ve been trying to get through to the speaking clock.
Sybil: Oh dear . . .
Manuel leads the guests off.
Basil: . . . Well, it’s engaged.
Sybil: Oh, how awful . . .
Basil: . . . Well, it’s been engaged for ten minutes. How is this possible, my wife isn’t talking to it.
Sybil: Well, hold your head right back, that usually stops it.
Basil: Right. (he rings off and re-dials) The speaking clock has obviously taken the phone off the hook. Either that or there’s been a light shower within twenty miles.
Sybil: Well, you’d better not go on if it’s getting on the bedspread.
Basil: Unobtainable. (he puts the phone down) The clock’s been cut off. Obviously it didn’t pay its bill. (goes into the office)
Sybil: Well, call me back when you’ve staunched it. (she puts the phone down) I don’t know why she stays with him. (looks at a magazine) Oh, that’s pretty.
Mr. Johnson walks in through the main doors; he is casually dressed and has his shirt open to the waist.
Polly: Oh, hallo. You got the guide? (he shows it to her)
Sybil: Good evening, Mr. Johnson.
Mr. Johnson: Evening. Any messages?
Polly
: Three, I think. (she gets his messages)
Sybil: Three . . . everybody wants you, don’t they.
Mr. Johnson: Oh, I wouldn’t say that.
Sybil: Oh, well . . . you’re only single once.
Basil’s voice (from the office) Twice can be arranged.
Sybil: What, Basil?
Basil: Nothing, my dear. (he comes in and stares at Johnson who is on the simian side) Have we got enough bananas this week, dear?
Sybil gives him a look; he goes back into the office, where he sits down. He hears Sybil’s grating laugh; it irritates him. She laughs again and he walks mock-casually back into reception and sits at the typewriter. Johnson is telling Sybil a story.
Mr. Johnson: So Harry says, ‘You don’t like me any more. Why not?’ And he says, ‘Because you’ve got so terribly pretentious.’ And Harry says, ‘Pretentious? Moi?’ (Sybil laughs; Basil remains straight-faced) I’ll just try that number. (he goes into the bar)
Sybil: Oh, that’s awfully good, isn’t it. ‘Moi ’. . . did you hear it, Basil?
Basil: What, dear?
Sybil: The joke.
Basil: Oh, a joke. No, I heard you laugh, I thought perhaps he was having a tea party.
Sybil: Tea party? Oh, now I understand the banana reference. You mean you think he looks like a monkey.
Basil: Only from some angles.
Sybil: Well, from this angle he’s very attractive.
Basil: Attractive?
Sybil: You know, easy and amusing and charming.
Basil: Charming, eh—well he’s certainly covered in charms. I’ve never seen so many medals round one neck in my life. He must be the bravest orang-utang in Britain. What is the point of decorating yourself like that?
Sybil: They’re not just there for decoration—they have symbolic meaning.
Basil: Sybil, that type would wear a dog turd round its neck if it was made of gold.
Sybil: Basil, you’re so ignorant sometimes. One of them happens to be a rhino’s tooth, one’s an ancient Egyptian fertility symbol . . .
Basil: Well, that must come in handy.
Sybil: It’s not supposed to be handy, Basil. It goes back to the dawn of civilization.
Basil: Well, by the look of his forehead, so does he.
Sybil: Tell me, Basil, what is it about the . . . the Mediterranean type that antagonises you so? Is it because women find them attractive?
Basil: Sybil . . .
Sybil: You seem to think that we girls should be aroused by people like Gladstone and Earl Haig and Baden-Powell . . . don’t you.
Basil: Well, at least they had a certain dignity. It’s hard to imagine Earl Haig wandering round with his shirt open to the waist covered with identity bracelets.